Most people know Chris Isaak from "Wicked Game," his memorable music video featuring a "From Here to Eternity"-inspired shoreline romp with a supermodel.
    But if his new Showtime series, "The Chris Isaak Show" (Mondays, 10-11 p.m. ET, beginning this coming  Monday) is to be believed, he's really more Ben Stiller than Burt Lancaster.
     Isaak presents himself as something of a lovelorn goofball in this series, which purports to be loosely based on his real life, with him and his actual band mates playing themselves.
    Anyone expecting sordid tales of backstage debauchery will be disappointed. While the occasional groupie and stalker pops up, "Isaak" focuses on the quotidian side of fame. 
     For instance, Isaak nips his budding romance with actress Minnie Driver (played by herself) by losing her dog's special pet food. The creature ends up murdering his neighbor's rabbit, which Isaak tries to obscure by washing and blow-drying its fur.
    In another episode, his relationship with a police officer sours when he overhears her threatening to shoot her ex-husband. 
     As a bumbling straight man, Isaak is no Stiller but competent enough. The only real problem with the series is that viewers expecting a behind-the-scenes tell-all of rock stardom will be let down. 
    Toss out the fame, musical genius and matinee-idol looks, "Isaak" seems to argue, and he's just like the rest of us.
     That might come as a surprise to those whose only exposure to Isaak is the steamy "Wicked Game." There's always been something oddly schizophrenic about Isaak that this series doesn't explore: Here's a guy with a slick pompadour who wears sequined suits, yet he's quite mild-mannered. His appeal is also questionable considering he's essentially a one-hit wonder, although that could change if the series takes off.
     The show's biggest laughs come from Anson (Jed Rees), the band's fictional keyboardist, a slovenly boor unluckier in love than Isaak. In the first episode, he declines to pursue a tryst with a fetching horse enthusiast after getting intimidated by her pet's, um, girth. In the fourth episode, his father interrupts his participation in a ménage à trois.
     Presumably to curry favor with female viewers and counter all the macho-oriented stories, "Isaak" devotes a lot of face time to Isaak's manager Yola (Kristin Datillo), a woman whose beauty is surpassed only by her insecurities.
    Unfortunately, her boring subplots end up marring each episode. One installment about her attraction to a sleep-disorder specialist whom she consults for her insomnia goes nowhere fast. Had her character been forced to watch her story line, sleep probably wouldn't be such a problem.
     In Showtime's growing slate of original series, "Isaak" makes a good replacement for the outgoing Nielsen-challenged "Beggars & Choosers." They take different approaches, but both series are concerned with the dysfunctional side of celebrity.
     Showtime executives shouldn't entertain thoughts of "Isaak" attracting the gaudy opening ratings enjoyed by its previous new original series, "Queer as Folk." A 4.5 cable rating comes with marquee stars or major controversy; "Queer" had the latter and "Isaak" has neither. 
    As a quiet comedy, "Isaak" will be lucky to crack a 2.0 unless its star makes publicity-generating headlines. Had Showtime landed Madonna or someone who draws more curiosity, that would be a different story.

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